


linked // longing

by imperiality



Series: Hope . . Have (Works Inspired by Batmorphy) [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: "But Cass your people have no fluff!", "then let them drink tears", Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/M, Prose Poem, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperiality/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: Jealously is a poison, silent and demandingLove is a weapon, elusive and foreboding





	linked // longing

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are!!!! Another piece!!!! Crazy stuff!!!!
> 
> ([Here's the work~](https://batmorphy.tumblr.com/post/168401046559))
> 
> I wanted to have this out closer to New Year's, but that obviously didn't happen. Forgive
> 
> Oh! And for my special friend gwydionae- there's some spicy (but not too spicy. Y'all know me,) stuff near the end of the fic.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy :D

Keith wants Allura. He wants her everyday more than the last. He wants her touch he wants her heat he wants her home.

 _But Keith…_ _You already have me._

Only a little true. 

Allura comes back to him, she is faithful to him but. She is not his.

“Beloning” is tricky.

If her home is not in him and her Home is not any longer, to what and to whom does she belong?

Keith can be hers merry til the day is long, he can think of no other person to whom he’d want to so fully prostrate himself but-

“Belonging” is lost.

“Mutuality” is muddy.

The home he’s holding between his hand is withering.

Allura prefers to make her home not from bricks but in things.

Not things, but artifacts.

From Allura’s memories, Keith can see fossils of creations’ past. Marches of time passing dreams; Keith can replay them all in Technicolor wonder.

He holds the echo of her soul’s aroma; her father’s shared legacy. The aftertastes of their Eden.

The juniberry flower hurts him more than the prickling cacti of his home. 

(That place isn’t his.)

Home is neither brick nor mortar nor sediment nor flora to Keith, but is living pulsing sinew. 

Keith holds the juniberry flower and wants to cast it aside. How can memories be gratifying anymore? He is taunted by the lack of tangibility in laughter.

Laughter fades.

Memories die.

Flowers wither.

He wants _Allura._

He wants something of Allura that he can hold, that will _last_.

The flower’s veins are pressing between his fingers. He can snap its pedicel and that’s an end. He takes his hands away from Allura’s body and that’s an end, takes his eyes off hers and that’s an end.

It’s an end.

How does he put a stop to it?

 _God_ , does he need to bottle her grace? How can he share in her quintessence? Will her drink of her soul, can he eat of her heart,

Will the drain of her sinew be enough, what will be _enough_!

(Perhaps the beating of her pulse will suffice.) He can be content with its steady rhythm against his chest. He guesses. 

_I am more than content with my exclusive heartbeat, thank you Keith._

How far would he dare to go to make her blood stain the tip of his blade. The tips of his hands.

Oh, he can put his hands on her, in her, through her until he is dripping in her but he trusts he’ll never be satisfied. 

_But I’m an easy person to please._

Allura can let him think that. _Do you really want to bet?_

Only a little true. Keith settles for much. He keeps the cards he’s dealt, faces them down to the table. He only ever picks up what he needs. Never asks to exchange. Keith keeps his hand, even if there’s no royals, no aces no flushes, houses or pairs. He never plays dirty.

He fights hard.

He accepts what he has and fights to keep it there, but does what he has satisfy?

 _Yes, I am. I am!_ Keith asserts. _Allura, I lived in a shack. For a year. To be honest, living with my father wasn’t a whole lot better._

No luxuries have been spared to Keith, but is he _pleased_? 

 _I don’t expect you to understand, Princess. Not with being raised in a palace like you have. Not like being raised with the love like you have_.

That was neither answering the question, nor answering the question correctly. 

The answer is No. 

No he is not pleased. 

Keith is not pleased, not in the slightest. He’s been happy at times. His diaphragm is no longer sore from meager laughter, he is no longer shocked at his own smile. Seeing and describing joy is not lost on him. Love is so easy to see and point out. 

Joy and love _felt_ are elusive masters. In this way, he is not pleased.

Keith can accept that “taking it easy” was not written for him, but he can’t help but wonder-

(Why _not_?)

(Why can’t life be _easy, for_ ** _once_**?)

(Why can’t he have an easy night’s sleep without Allura, without Shiro, without the longevity of joy why does joy elude him why does love escape him why)

Why can’t he have even just a little of what Allura has?

 _I beg your pardon?_ Allura interrupts his poisonous rambling. _Just what exactly do you think I have that you’re missing?_

Keith’s gape is bereft and baffled. _Do you… I’m sorry but is that a real question?_

 _Yes, that’s a real question. What exactly do I have that you’re missing? Please tell me and I’ll happily give it._ Sharper than the snap of a whip, colder than the heart of an iceberg.

If only what Allura had was something she’s able to give.  Keith shakes his head, _No Allura. You don’t get it._

 _What is it that I don’t get!_ she insists. _Tell me! Do I not get that we all share in each other’s family as paladins, as defenders as_ chosen fighters _together? Am I not understanding that each and every one of us are giving our all? Am I not “getting” that we commiserate by our hurt, by our pain and by our hope?_

_Allura, no. It’s not that._

Before Keith can walk away, the Princess steps right behind him and turns his shoulder.

 _Ah, I see._ She nods. _Your jealousy is finally catching up with you._

_My WHAT?_

_Yes, Keith. Your jealousy. Don’t make me say it again._ She wraps her hand tighter. _You think my life in the castle was terribly easy. A heavy presumption. I don’t know how royalty is treated and what their expectations are on Earth, but it must be_ very _different._

Keith barely mutters, _I doubt it._

Allura’s pressure makes Keith’s knees buckle, shoulder break under her weight. _Just how spoiled do you think I was? How much do you think I was given? How little do you think I lost?_ She can’t help her tears from spilling. _How little do you think I understand?_

Violently, viciously, _finally_ Keith tears his arm from beneath her hand. _Apparently you understand it all, so there’s nothing more to say. I’m not interested in having this conversation with you._

The shoulder doesn’t work? Okay. That’s fine. The Princess snatches his wrist instead. Her interest inflates. _Keith. Stop! Why are you being this way, What do I not understand!_

“ME!” he rips his hand away, combing his hands through his hand. “You’re not getting it! This! _Me!_ Okay, okay maybe I want a life in a castle a little. Maybe I want to know full night’s sleep. Maybe I want to know remember fonder memories of my mother, maybe I want more of a family’s love, maybe I want…” he screws his eyes shut, swallows his shuddering breath and speaks. 

“I want to stop wanting. I want to keep being part of Voltron but I want to do more help for the Blades. I want to know where I belong.” (Allura can’t decide if Keith’s breaking, booming, or monotone voice are frighting above all.) “I want to feel like when I come back from a mission, I’m coming home. I want to feel like, like.” His breathing quickens. “Like,” he turns his head away, “like there’s” he turns his head down, “like there’s love to be had here.”

 _Oh, Keith._ The lady reaches her hand out.

But too quick for her hand, he ducks away and trudges on. 

“I want you.”

 _Keith, we keep having this conversation. You_ have _me._

“No. No, I don’t. I have you about as much as you have memories of your father. I have you about as much I dream. I have you about as much as we have victory over the Galra and I feel _wrong._ ”

 _That’s because you are wrong,_ Allura points.

“I’m _not_!” Keith splays his hand wide open. The only one he fears striking is himself, indirectly. “I’m not wrong, and you know it. I can give you everything you asked, Allura. It might take some time but I would do it. It scares me how much I’m already resigning myself to give, but I would do it. I want _you_ so bad, and you’ve given so much too, I see it and I know that but. I just.” Keith can’t help the tears coming from him, either.

“There’s still something missing. I wish I knew what it was. I wish I knew what’s _wrong_ with me, I wish I could hold onto something for more than a few seconds. I wish I felt like you weren’t slipping away, either. I wish I knew where my home was, I wish for love. I want to stop missing you.”

 _What?_ Allura backs, backs backs up.

“I… I miss you, Allura.”

In true Crowned fashion, she spares him precisely no mercy.

“You know, Keith.” Her hands are stiff, still but yet not fisted by her sides. “You wouldn’t have to miss me if you weren’t gone so much.”

“I… what?” he tilts his head.

She encroaches. “You wish for love. You wish for home and you wish for peace and you wish for a place and you speak as if you’re the _only one!_ ” She torches. “You don’t wish for much, Keith. You wish for things you already have!” She crucifies. “How _dare you! How dare you!_ How _dare_ you say you want me and how _dare_ you say you can’t find love here.” Sick, she is sick and she shakes her head. “Just how much do you think I’ve had to sacrifice. I’ve had so much ripped from me, Keith. Don’t you dare belittle me. Don’t you condescend to me when you are so ignorant.”

“ _Ignorant!_ ” He could positively laugh. “I’m the ignorant one? I’ve lost _more_ than you!”

“Ha.” Her laugh is a punch out from her, through at him. “I’ve? I’ve lost less? I’m the one to lose the least of you all?” Her speech is nigh incomprehensible from her hysteric laughter. “I’ve lost _LESS?_ ” Her tears are hot, fast and unstoppable. “Because I didn’t lose my _entire race_ overnight, Keith! Because I didn’t see my mother torn from me, because I didn’t have to see my father lock me away, only to be traumatized by his own corruption. Because I wasn’t the one that had to put him to his final sleep.” Her voice grinds against her vocal cords, “because I don’t give my _everything_ to make this ship work. To make you all work together. To make the universe work together. I guess you’re absolutely right, Keith! I give nothing!”

Openly he sobs before the Princess, clutching his stomach. _Weeping, weeping, weeping._ Brokenly, he confesses,

“You, Shiro. This team. Red,” he hiccups. “You all are my everything. And I- I am so, so very,” he catches himself on the thorns of his own fears. “I am so terrified of losing any of it. I didn’t lose my father like you did, my ‘people’ are still alive, but.” (It takes everything from within him not to lean to Allura for support. _Like so many times before.)_ “I am afraid of loss. I’m ready to lose myself, but I don’t think. Well. No, that’s not true. I would learn to live without Lance and Pidge and Hunk. Coran, Matt. Even you and Shiro if you all were lost to the war but. I don’t want to. I don’t want to, Allura. I don’t want to have to learn to live without another person.”

Allura’s sniveling stops her from replying at all, so Keith goes on.

“I guess what I’m trying to say,” Keith exhales heavy _heavy-laden, “_ Is that… Is that I. I can’t- hm.” He inhales. “I can’t lose you, too.” He grits his teeth and he _goes on_. “I miss you because I keep myself too far away to know you enough. I can’t find love here because… because.” Suddenly, Keith’s expression clears. His revelation overshadows him. “Because I haven’t found love before. And because I haven’t, I think I can’t find it anywhere else. I just want love so _bad,_ but I don’t know how to get it.

“I’m sorry, Allura. No one can ever lose more than you, I think. That wasn’t fair or right of me to say. I just.”

_I just want to know how to_ **_love_ ** _you before you’re taken from me!_

The weary woman says _Now_ that. _That’s fair to say. But what I need from you? Is to stop running away from me before I even have the chance to love you. Before any of us has the chance to love you, besides Shiro._

But unlike Shiro, Keith is loathe to make promises he can’t keep. He doesn’t reassure her a permanent place by her side. He doesn’t promise her the full eradication of his walls.

He can’t promise his own subtraction, but he’ll ruminate over Allura’s own addition. 

Giving isn't easy. It’ll never get any easier. 

It is natural, only.  
In such, Keith gives the Princess more space. He is no longer tethered to her side her front her everywhere when they now reconvene. 

It doesn’t mean he wants to be any less. He’ll never want her any less.

But sentiment is easier.

This they can compromise.

His jacket is now Allura’s to keep. Keith stops sliding it through his arms, then shucking it off when they depart. It is no longer on loan. The cycle of donning it on and off it wholly ceased and it no longer remains “Keith’s Jacket.”

It is Allura’s.

 _This is the start of something beautiful, Keith_. Says she. _Something of you that I may keep. Your passion vacillates and manifests in different ways. Moods change, memories are liquid. But this?_ She zips it up her chest. Shimmies her shoulders. _This will remain with me for as long as I live._

The wording shouldn’t sound as morbid as it did to the boy. He knows though, she didn’t mean it like that.

She meant it like love.

Love is the way she wears his jacket around the castle, sighing in its smell and running her fingers over the fabric. Love is the way she softens her steps around him. Love is the way he keeps his hood down more often than not. 

Love is the way the other Paladins don’t address their witnessing of Allura’s and Keith’s ichor. They take no sides, hold no grudges, push no issue. _They got this,_ Shiro assures.

And they did.

They do.

The impassioned Red Paladins cultivate catharsis in a series of stages. It stars with the sharing of breath. Then an episode of silence. They approach, they bow (their posture, their eyes their pride) and they embrace. Then they share.

Keith, his jacket.

Allura, her joy. 

(Life is too short. Tomorrow is never promised. Goodbyes are always imminent, so some modesty must be spared.)

The lady forgoes restraint when she accepts its worth and consequence. Here on the castle? She’ll seldom feel it.

At least, as long as it’s to, towards and for Keith.

He comes back from the Blades and she _charges_ him. A gut-punching impact makes Allura’s embrace incontrovertible. The heat spilling from her breath and her chest makes her love  unmistakable. 

Keith figures they should have had their abreaction sooner.

 _No, not so._ Allura sighs into his neck. They are both fully armored, but both fully vulnerable. (Keith is reconditioning himself to let his only defense be a white picket fence; not a bulwark.) _Only havoc is wreaked when things are changed too fast._

Keith’s arm tightens by her side. His voice pauses in his throat. _But… havoc was still_ had _. I think that… conversation was bound to happen for a while._

 _Oh of course._ Her laugh is gentle. _You tell me how many people actively look forward to change. Can you tell me how kindly any world looks upon change?_

His only response is a heavy exhale.

_Exactly._

From thence forward, every parting and meeting is sweeter tenfold. Allura presses her whole person against Keith while he pours all his breath into hers. He savors any short-lived stasis, instead of living on a dagger’s-edge of flippancy. 

He’s going to carve his change into the timeline of life.

(Life is malleable to him, now.)

Now he has to find somewhere to carve.

Somewhere?

 _Someone_.

He can start with carving into Allura.

Part of his wanting her, is wanting her every way possible. Keith’s never considered himself a “gentleman”, so his thinly-veiled desire surely isn’t, either. 

He savors the stasis of unchanging times.

He lets himself savor the fulfillment and evidence of love for Allura. 

He savors the taste of her on his tongue. (That’s where he’ll begin.) He takes her in, in in and he is too trounced to count the ways. 

_How do I want you next…_

Keith wants to lay the Princess down. He wants to lay the Princess _out._

Feverishly, greedily he puts his hands wherever she lets them. He runs his tongue anywhere she permits. Beneath him, she reaches up and above- she wants his concession, too.

So he will. Gladly.

It’s a give.

After more food-goo fights, he rests in the joy. Now that his search for love is 

more active and his findings are not so few, joy can emirate from him as well.

 _Sorry, Allura_ Keith will say, already disrobing his soiled shirt. _Guess I have to go change._

The boy isn’t sorry in the slightest. He’s not fooling a single person. (His solemn, stoic face might have early on, but his walls are crumbling.) Besides. For soiling Keith’s shirt after an upsurge of happiness? For that, Allura is hardly sorry in kind.

The only thing she’ll consider remorse over is not seeing Keith’s disrobed chest longer. 

Allura may concede patience.

They both learn the tandem pulls and swells of concession. Possession. Joy, and love they learn bit by bit.

Allura learns how to climb Keith’s soul.

He gauges the boundaries of how he may carve into hers.

(He’s learning to let joy reign supreme.)

_I’m going to make love mine. To have and to hold._

Keith starts by holding Allura.

**Author's Note:**

> (((typical edits to come disclaimer good stuff good stuff good stuff :) :) :) :)))))))


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